


Learning Curve

by sundayrain26



Series: Cherished [3]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Phil Coulson, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, American Sign Language, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Banter, Bathing/Washing, Clint hates Medical, Clint's acrobatic skills, Clint's not perfect, Deaf Clint Barton, Family Planning, Feels, He also has no tact, Hearing aids, Knotting, Lip reading, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Missions, Mpreg, Omega Clint Barton, Protective Phil Coulson, Rimming, Scenting, Self-Lubrication, Seriously these two are adorable, Steve doesn't always know his own strength, Tony Stark Has A Heart, from an author with little knowledge of Deafness and ASL, pack bonds, please bear with me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2018-04-04 12:54:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 18,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4138329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sundayrain26/pseuds/sundayrain26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil and Clint decide they're ready to have a child.</p><p>Could be seen as the same story line as King of Snark.</p><p>*This story has now been retrofitted with deaf Clint*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I recently read the series [In Heat](http://archiveofourown.org/series/81883) by coffeejunkii. I was inspired by the relationship they portrayed and was compelled to try my hand at something approaching domestic. For our SHIELD agents, at any rate.
> 
> I have the rating set as explicit for future chapters (because I know myself).
> 
>  
> 
> After reading the comments on chapter seven and weighing the possibilities, I have decided to retrofit this story with Clint being deaf. There are not a lot of changes, just a few things here and there if you feel like hunting them down. In addition, I am writing a prequel to tell how Clint becomes deaf and how he and Phil cope with it.
> 
> My knowledge and understanding of hearing impaired and deafness is limited. As such, I would greatly appreciate any input if any of my readers have experience with this, whether it be first hand, a loved one, friend, medical point of view, anything. Also, anyone that knows or is familiar with sign language, lip reading, hearing aids, etc, I could use information on these areas as well. I want to do the subject justice and portray it appropriately.
> 
> On a side note, if I've misused signs or portrayed something incorrectly, _please_ let me know, and if you can, how to fix it.

Clint is anxious. While that's not particularly unusual when his heat is approaching, this time is somewhat different.

He and Phil have discussed this for months and at great length. The decision to remove his contraceptive implant had not been taken lightly. Their line of work is risky, of course, and then there's Clint's huge insecurity regarding family. He has no doubt that Phil will be an amazing father but his own subpar childhood leaves him skittish about the idea.

He's curled in on himself on their couch, mind racing as his preheat sends his belly cramping and his skin crawling. That's how Phil finds him when he walks in the door, an armful of work in tow. His aids are in, but turned low so can just barely hear Phil pause before setting the papers down and crossing the space to kneel in front of him.

"Clint," he murmurs, a gentle hand coming to rest on the side of his face.

He turns into the touch, but his nose wrinkles with shame at the fear and anxiety marring the gentle scent of preheat. He wants to speak but is suddenly aware of his breath coming much too rapidly. Damn. He's hyperventilating. As much as he wants the comfort of his alpha, he's embarrassed and whines as he turns his face into the couch cushion. "S - ssorry," he gasps out, his fisted hand curled toward him and automatically moving in a circular fashion, signing the same word miserably. His face is wet and a frustrated sound tears from his throat. This is _stupid._

"Clint, hey.. you know we don't have to do this right? You are more than enough for me, darling," his soft voice comes closer and his hand strokes soothingly from his neck to his shoulder and down his back. Intuitive as ever. Of course he knows what's on his mind.

His breath hitches and he shakes his head. "No, no.. I want to. I do. I'm just," his voice breaks off with a ragged sob. Before he even manages the next words, he shakes a single fist and splays his fingers wide. _Scared._ "I'm jus' scared." He wants to give Phil as many babies as he wants but the thought of being a parent terrifies him. Clint firmly presses his face into the couch, very much wanting to hide his ugly crying, complete with snot and a splotchy red face.

He can hear Phil sigh and shuffle to sit on the floor in front of their couch. "It's okay to be scared," is his gentle assurance. One hand closes over one of Clint's while the other pets at his hair. "Baby, we don't have to try this time. If you're not ready, it's fine."

Guilt tears through Clint like a knife in his chest. He shakes his head wildly with a miserable sound. He hates this, feeling like a giant ball of hormones. He'd had the contraceptive implant for so long that he'd forgotten how strongly his heat could impact his emotions without it. Phil's touch, though, is slowly calming him. Phil nudges him to sit so he can sit beside him and wrap him tight in his arms. Phil's so perfect, half the time he feels like he doesn't deserve such an attentive alpha.

Clint can finally breath again, though his face is still wet and his crying has devolved into hiccups. Gentle fingers stroke from his hair at the back of his neck and over his skin to the collar of shirt. Head tucked beneath Phil's chin, he settles with a sigh. Pressing his nose against Phil's chest, he mumbles sheepishly, "Forgot how emotional I used to get without the implant. 'm sorry."

"Don't be." He peppers soft kisses upon Clint's head down to a tiny spot behind his ear that always makes him melt. Phil's voice is gentle yet firm when he speaks; he needs an honest answer. "You need to let me know before your heat hits what you want me to do. You know we have condoms if you want to wait."

Clint presses his face into Phil's shirt, breathing in his scent. He almost wants to take the easy way out, say he's not ready. Phil wouldn't begrudge him at all, he knows that. But they’ve spent so long talking about this, sorting out desires and fears and practicalities. He trusts Phil to be strong and capable and help him through everything. Phil has been adamant that it’s all a learning process, something for them to work through together. Feeling safe and warm, he speaks with a soft, decisive tone, “I don’t want to wait.” Fingers under his chin tilt his face up for a tender kiss.

“Okay.” They stay nestled together for a short while before Clint starts fidgeting. "What do you need babe?" His only response is a noncommittal grunt and a shrug. "Why don't we eat then. You want me to cook?”

Clint hums a wordless agreement, leaning against Phil.

“Alright. You can stay here and nap if you want. I’ll wake you when dinner’s ready.” He presses a kiss to Clint’s forehead and guides him to lie down on the couch with the throw blanket from the back. Clint curls up, blanket tucked under his chin, but his eyes stay open, silently tracking Phil as he moves into the kitchen.

He's not even aware that he's fallen asleep until Phil's hand is patiently stroking his hair. His eyes open to plates of pasta on the coffee table and Phil perched on the edge of the couch. He smiles and rolls onto his back. Even the preheat fatigue seems to be hitting him harder without the implant to regulate his hormones. A crooked grin tugs at his face as he sits up to kiss his alpha on the cheek. "Thank you," he murmurs, turning his aid back up to a normal level.

Phil strokes over his shoulder. He loves taking care of his omega. "Of course."

Clint's already poking at the noodles with a fork, the plate balanced on his legs. He glances at the black tv screen. "Put a movie on?" he questions before stuffing a forkful of food into his mouth.

The remote is already in Phil's hand and he cues up a random film. They have a list set aside just for mindless distractions like now. Background noise acquired, he tucks into his own meal, letting the warm scent of his mate's preheat wash over him. They eat in comfortable silence and Phil clears away their plates once they're both empty. “You want to finish the movie or go to bed?”

Clint shrugs one shoulder, “Want to stay here.”

It’s not exactly the answer Phil was looking for but he’s not surprised. He stashes the leftovers into tupperware and stuffs them in the fridge before rejoining Clint on the couch. He interprets his not-answer as they’ll be finishing the movie. At least until further notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please bear with me. I'm very busy with work and classes and life in general, but I will be adding on to this story. It just may take a while.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. I wrote this when I should've been writing my assignment for food and culture. Oops.
> 
> Hope y'all like it!

The movie is just approaching the end, that climactic part where things get intense and fast paced when restlessness sets in for Clint. He wants to find a perch and just watch. He wants to pace and move about. Some dumb leftover evolutionary instinct to seek out a potential mate, never mind his mate is sitting right next to him. _Fucking biology._ Instead of any of these, he manages to reign it in to a constant fidget and a steady, quiet tapping of his foot against the floor.

Phil notices. He mostly ignores it until the credits are rolling, simply watching from the corner of his eye until then. He reaches over to slide a hand over Clint’s shoulder to his neck and squeezes the muscles there. The pressure stills his movements and gradually, the tension bleeds out of him.

“Thanks,” he murmurs under his breath, leaning into Phil’s touch, not submitting but welcoming.

Phil hums a soft acknowledgement and clicks the tv off. Pressing a kiss to Clint’s hair as he moves to get up, he suggests, “Why don’t we get some sleep before your heat hits, huh?”

Clint nods wordlessly. He’s still restless and doesn’t feel able to sleep, but he knows that he should. Being off the implant seems to be magnifying all of his usual preheat symptoms. Who's to say the trend won't continue with his heat? He gets up at Phil’s nudging and, body running on automatic, goes through to motions to get ready for bed. Fifteen minutes later finds him considering the folded down covers on the bed as he sits on the edge, debating if he wants to lie on top of them or underneath them. After a moment he shrugs and lies down, tucking his feet under, but not pulling them up beyond his hip. Before Phil is even slipping into bed, he’s already rolled and shifted positions five times. He debates taking his aids out for the night, but he likes being able to hear during his heats and worries he may not have the patience to deal with them when he inevitably wakes up horny.

Phil breathes a silent sigh and turns the bedside lamp off, noting the purple aid peaking out from behind Clint’s ear. He rolls to face Clint, who has just resettled on to his back, one leg stretched out to one side, a faint frown pulling at his brow. Shuffling closer, he lets a hand rest on Clint’s bicep. The frown slowly smooths out and Clint rolls his head to look at him.

“Dunno if I’m gonna be able to sleep,” he admits quietly, avoiding Phil’s eyes as he does.

A slight nod rustles the pillow as he speaks, “That’s okay. Just rest.”

\-----

Turns out they both managed to get some sleep. Phil had stayed awake long enough to see his omega drift off before following suit. It’s still dark out when Phil wakes with Clint pressed full-length up against him, nosing at his throat. His arm is already draped over Clint and he moves it to press his hand flat against the small of his back. He scents the air, his mouth slightly open. Clint’s getting close. Very close. Close enough to have him half hard against Phil’s thigh. But his scent’s not quite there yet.

Clint mouths at his throat and sucks lightly at his collarbone, humming, “Mmm, can’t wait for you to breed me.”

This isn’t anything exceptionally new for Clint to say, but Phil’s gut clenches as he realizes that is precisely what he’s aiming to do. It’s not just a bunch of hot air and heat talk this time. The thought has his cock beginning to fill.

“Want you to give me a whole litter. You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

Phil moans in response. The likelihood of them conceiving more than one child is improbable at best, but it’s still a common alpha wet dream to see one’s mate with a belly full of babies. He tugs Clint closer, rolling so he can feel how his words are affecting him. Fingers dancing up his omega’s strong back, he rolls onto his back and pulls Clint to lie on top of him. Not many alphas care for the weight of their mate pressing them into the bed, but, well.. Phil’s not like many alphas. The way he sees it, Clint’s really the one in charge. He’s just here to love and protect his omega, provide whatever he needs.

His hands slide down to grope at Clint’s ass. He can feel the slightest bit of dampness there from the slick his body’s beginning to produce. His fingers slip beneath the waist of Clint’s sleep pants and boxers, tracing little lines on his skin. “Want to get these off?” he questions, his voice gone a bit husky as he nuzzles against his mate’s ear.

“Yeah, wanna feel your skin on mine,” he agrees easily, breathily, as he reaches down to shove the hem of Phil’s shirt up so his hands can get at the skin there.

A little shifting around and they both shuck their clothes off quickly, neither of them having the patience for teasing or careful striping. Clint settles back on top of Phil and kisses him soundly before flipping them expertly so he’s tucked beneath his alpha, bracketed in by his arms. Phil’s weight and presence makes him feel warm and safe. His scent spikes. Getting closer.

Phil buries his face in the crook of Clint’s shoulder, licking and biting at the skin, his hands ranging over the archer’s torso, smoothing over muscle, tracing scars, thumbing nipples. He lets their cocks rub together, patiently waiting for Clint’s body to be ready. There’s heavy petting and sweet kisses and the heat scent grows, blossoming into something all encompassing.

Finally, Clint shoves at Phil with a whine; he moves immediately. Clint rolls, tucking his knees up under him so his ass sways in the air behind him, wet with slick. The cool air on his sweat and slick damp skin makes him shiver. “Ah, Philll, I’m ready. Need you, please,” he moans, gasping into the pillow he’s currently clinging to.

Phil takes half a second to admire the sight before crowding up behind Clint. “I’ve got you, just a minute babe.” He knows from previous heats that he’ll be plenty loose and wet, but he pushes two fingers in anyway, never one to assume when it’s Clint’s comfort and safety in question. They slide in easily and he can scissor them without trouble.

There’s a muffled moan and Clint leans back, fucking himself further on Phil’s fingers. “Said I’m ready. Gimme your cock. Need it.” He lifts an aggravated hand, his index finger crooked and jerking down at the wrist firmly.

Phil can’t entirely see the sign, but he can guess. “Hm, impatient,” Phil mutters fondly into the skin at the omega’s shoulder blades. He twists his fingers, drawing a half strangled gasp and pulls them out, slicking himself up with the liquid lingering on his hand before guiding himself home.

“Yessss,” Clint hisses happily at the sensation, blindly reaching a hand back to pull at one of Phil’s thighs. He can feel Phil press his forehead to the middle of his upper back, grunting. His words slur together as he encourages Phil to _move_ , “Give it to me, giveit tome, giveittoomeee.”

Phil licks a stripe along Clint’s spine, “Mm, you got it, baby.” He pulls back and slides back in, building up a steady rhythm. “God, Clint, you’re gorgeous. Love you so much,” his voice is breathy and a little growly, but the words are reverent, full of awe.

A groan with a vague “l” sound to it is the only answer. On a gasp, he manages, “Love you, oh!” He writhes, back arching, his breath coming with small moaning gasps. The marginal swelling at the base of Phil’s cock hiccups over his rim with each thrust, making him full body twitch. He’s so very pleased he has his aids in. The sound of skin on skin, the slick sound as Phil moves inside him, he can’t get enough.

Phil’s hands stroke along his sides, gripping at his hips with each pass, stopping only for a few moments at a time. He wants to touch everywhere all at once. He can feel his knot starting to swell and he presses tight against the back of Clint’s thighs, giving just the tiniest of jerking thrusts. Fully expanded, he folds over his mate’s back, mouthing at his shoulder, groaning as his comes. He’s moving to jerk Clint off when he feels him clench down around him and whine haltingly, coming untouched onto the bed beneath them. Phil grunts in turn as the pressure sparks through him in aftershocks. He’s still gasping for breath as he holds Clint tight to his chest and leads them in a coordinated fall onto their sides, narrowly avoiding the wet spot.

Clint squirms, content, in Phil’s arms, feeling his body milk his mate for all he’s worth. The biological function means so much more, coaxing additional semen into his body; no implant to impede the process this time. “That’s amazing,” he mumbles, half in reference to his own spectacular orgasm and half to the feeling, the process and function of being tied together.

“Mhmm.” Fingers trace patterns on his skin but Phil’s brain seems to be largely offline at the moment. Can hardly blame a guy, after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My chapters are getting shorter. But at least they're still coming? *hides*

Clint squirms again, this time with an impatient whine, “I know this is supposed to be _helpful_ , but this is getting a little excessive.”

Phil sighs and moves his hands to Clint’s hips to keep him still; all his moving about is pulling at his knot and it’s quite uncomfortable. “Guess you aren’t the only one with crazy hormones. Would you stop moving?,” he grouses quietly. They’ve been tied for forty minutes now and they’re both getting a bit restless. It seems that the lack of contraceptive implant isn’t only affecting Clint. “It’s starting to go down, just give it a minute,” he assures his mate, wrapping an arm around him, attempting to keep him placated a bit longer. He fervently hopes this trend won’t be continuing.

“Doesn’t feel like it’s going down,” is the muttered response as Clint picks at a spot on the sheets in front of him. Phil simply rolls his eyes and keeps his mouth shut. Typical Clint.

Of course Phil is right and a short minute later, he’s shrunk enough to slip free. Clint immediately is rolling onto his back and stretching grandly. “Mm, ‘bout time.” His back pops and he goes boneless on the bed with a groan.

Phil leans over to kiss his mouth before moving to grab them a bottle of water from the side table. After taking a few swallows for himself, he nudges the bottle into Clint’s hand who promptly downs the remainder. He reclaims the empty bottle and rolls off the bed, dropping it in the trash as he wanders to the bathroom. He returns with a damp washcloth, settling on the edge of the bed to wipe Clint’s skin down, removing a layer of sweat and slick and semen. Happy with his front, Phil taps his side, “Roll over.”

Clint obliges with a small grunt. The cool cloth feels remarkable, leaving him shivering slightly in its wake. A tiny contented sigh escapes him when Phil’s done, caressing over his back fondly with his hand.

“How’re you feeling, babe?”

“Good,” he practically purrs, body entirely lax against the bed, his earlier restlessness gone.

Discarding the cloth to the nightstand, Phil kisses along Clint’s back, coming to lie alongside him, nuzzling at his shoulder. Assured that his mate is sated and calm for the time being, he settles in to cuddle and rest.

\-----

When they wake again, the sun is high in the sky. A glance at the time reveals its early afternoon. Clint’s panting and writhing against the sheets, belly up. “Philll,” he moans, half plaintively.

Phil hums and rolls to hold himself over Clint’s body. He ducks his head down and leaves a trail of wet, sucking kisses along his torso. His teeth graze over a nipple and Clint’s back arches off the bed. “Want it like this?” he questions, nosing along Clint’s throat.

His head thrashes from side to side as he lets his legs fall open around Phil’s hips. “Ooh, please.”

Steady hands slip down to check his opening. He’s still sufficiently wet from a combination of his own slick and Phil’s semen. Clint hitches a leg up over his alpha’s hip, both exposing himself and hinting at Phil to get going.

One hand strokes the curve of Clint’s calf as he moves to line himself up with his hole and slide in. He ranges over Clint’s body, huffing out breath as he begins a firm, steady pace.

“Fuck me harder Phil, come on,” Clint fairly growls, raking his fingers down Phil’s back to grip at his ass and forcefully pull him in.

Phil nips at Clint’s collarbone in reproach but picks up his pace regardless. There’s not much he can deny his omega, especially when he’s in heat. The force of his thrusts has one of Clint’s hands stretching up over his head to brace against the headboard. They go at it just like that until Phil feels the edge approaching. He slams himself home and begins that tight grind as his knot fills.

Clint outright howls and clings to Phil with all four limbs, rutting himself between Phil’s cock and his belly, rubbing himself off. Phil strokes him through his orgasm, even as he comes inside of his omega. Clint is still shuddering in the aftermath when Phil rolls them over so Clint’s weight is pressing Phil into the mattress. It’s honestly not the best position to be tied in, but neither of them can really bring themselves to care.

Breath finally evening out, Phil gropes for a pillow and tucks it under his own hips, tilting himself up a bit to lessen the pull between them. Clint’s head is pillowed on his shoulder as he holds him firmly against him, his fingers tracing patterns all over his skin. “Love you,” he sighs happily, his hand shaping the word out of habit: thumb, index, and little finger all extended.

“Sap,” Clint retorts with a grin stretching across his lips, “Love you too.”

Mercifully, they manage to doze through the majority of the tie. They both stir when Phil’s cock pops out, followed by a trickle of fluids. Clint’s nose wrinkles slightly but he doesn’t move from where he’s still slumped on top of Phil’s chest. Phil carefully rolls his mate off of him and staggers off to pee and grab another washcloth.

Clint’s puffing out little breaths, half asleep, when Phil returns. He grins fondly and carefully strokes along Clint’s shoulder to rouse him before wiping his skin clean. His omega huffs happily and rolls toward him when he slips back into bed. Phil knows he should get a little food into both of them, but it wouldn’t do to have Clint falling asleep in it. He’ll just have to wake him before the next wave hits.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some more sex with a side of cute.

Phil dozes on and off holding Clint while he sleeps. After a couple hours he talks himself into getting up to put together something to eat. He kisses Clint and wakes him with a stroke of his hand down his side.

Clint doesn’t even open his eyes, just rolls onto his belly with a groan, “ ‘m not ready for another round, you horny bastard.”

Phil snorts inelegantly and swats his mate’s exposed ass lightly. “When have I ever knotted you when you weren’t ready? I’m just going to get food. Any requests?”

A thoughtful hum and Clint turns his head to peek one eye open. “Grapes?”

He ruffles Clint’s hair as he rises. “Sure.” In the kitchen, he gathers crackers, cubed cheese, almonds, grapes (green and purple because Clint prefers the taste of the green ones but refuses to exclude the purple ones because they’re _purple_ ), and a glass of juice on a tray. He’s learned the smaller the items he can offer Clint, the more he can trick him into eating.

Tray balanced against one hip, he clicks on the bedside lamp. Sitting cross-legged with the tray at his knees, he pokes Clint in the side who responds with a jerk and an indignant squeak.

"Ass," Clint grumbles as he moves to sit up.

"Spoiled brat," is the fond, good-natured response.

"Yeah and who made me that way huh?" He has a crooked grin on his face as he reaches across Phil to snatch up a grape.

Phil seems to consider that a moment before shrugging and stacking cheese on a cracker. "Guilty." He pops the cracker into his mouth and moves on to assemble another one, this time for Clint. He hand feeds him a few bites but Clint continues snatching grapes from the tray with a single minded interest. It’s kind of adorable the way he alternates purple and green.

The two of them soon have the tray empty. Phil is interrupted as he moves to get up by Clint stealing a sweet, thankful kiss before settling back against the headboard - he’s a bit of a lounge lizard during his heats. Phil smiles at him lets his fingers trail along Clint’s leg as he walks away to the kitchen to put the dishes in the dishwasher.

Clint’s watching him with half-lidded eyes and his hands folded over his stomach when Phil returns.

“Do you want to wash up or change the sheets?” he asks, taking advantage of the time they have.

Clint face twists a bit as he thinks about it. He seems almost reluctant to answer. “Uh. As gross as this sounds, no? Everything’s scented up real nice,” he finally admits, one hand scratching absently behind his ear. A little flush colors his face and he avoids looking at Phil until the man is right next to him. It must be the unfettered hormones. Normally he’s itching at least for a change of sheets midway through his heat.

“That’s fine,” Phil assures him softly, pressing a kiss to his temple. “It is a little gross though,” he teases, his grin indulgent. A pillow wumps soundly against the side of his head, merely causing him to laugh outright. “I don’t mind. I like the smell of us together,” he murmurs, nestling close against Clint’s side, showering him with little kisses and nuzzles. “I like to think about how you’re going to smell,” he whispers, voice going husky, “With our child in here.” His hand has dropped to stroke the skin beneath Clint’s belly button.

The resulting moan reverberates through the both of them as Clint covers Phil’s hand with his own. Just south of them, his cock twitches with interest, beginning to fill a bit. “Gettin’ me all hot and it’s not even from my heat,” he croons, turning his face to press it into Phil’s shoulder.

Phil scents the air, his mouth opening just enough to let the air flow in over the roof of his mouth. Clint’s heat scent is rising again and he feels a rush of pride. “Or your body just likes the idea well enough to make your heat flare up,” he presses his lips soundly to Clint’s temple.

“You’d like to think that wouldn’t you?” he counters breathily, writhing a bit as he feels his ass becoming wet.

He hums a noncommittal sound and tilts Clint’s face up for a slow, wet kiss.

Clint simply melts against him, breaking the kiss after a few long minutes to speak, “That’s okay. You know my heats are all yours anyway.”

Phil half groans, half growls and pulls Clint over to straddle his lap, kissing him with a bit more fervor than he had previously. Clint’s thighs are the slightest bit slippery against his. They kiss and touch and eventually Phil can feel the slick _dripping_ on to him. His hands squeeze at his omega’s ass, pulling the cheeks apart to expose the sensitive, leaking hole.

He downright keens and spasms against Phil’s hold, moving his hips lower. The feeling of Phil’s erection along the inside of his thigh only serves the fan the flame in the pit of his belly. He feeds a hand down behind him to bring that deliciously hard flesh to his hole and lets himself sink down. His breath hitches and he cups Phil’s face in his hands to kiss him deeply, just rolling his hips in place. He starts lifting and dropping his hips, just small movements but gradually getting grander. Their kiss becomes sloppy, missing and over shooting one another as Clint bounces in Phil's lap. After nearly taking out Phil's eye with his nose, Clint abandons the attempt in favor of leaning back. Hands braced on Phil's legs behind him, he rides him in earnest, his breath leaving him in great whining pants.

“Love watching you ride me, babe,” he encourages between little moans. Phil’s hands are settled on his hips, not interfering with his pace, just touching.

“Uhh. Uh huh,” is all Clint can manage, too far gone to call on his usual sass and snark.

Having Clint quite literally speechless brings a smirk to his face. If that’s not a boost to his ego, he’s not sure what is. He’s getting close and as soon as he feels the telltale pressure at the base of his cock, Phil pulls Clint down by his hips, gasping out a warning.

Clint only needs a split second to register the change and he moves to brace his arms on Phil’s shoulders, twisting his hips sinfully.

Groaning, he opens his eyes to find the expanse of Clint’s chest just in front of his face. He leans in to bite down and suck on one pebbled nipple. His omega arches in his lap, pressing closer to rub himself against Phil. Clint’s painting stripes along his belly and clenching down around him before his knot is even fully expanded. Hissing at the sensation, he mouths along Clint’s skin, trailing little love bites. His hips give tiny, jerking thrusts up into Clint until he’s coming in long pulses, his forehead pressed to his mate’s chest.

Clint’s the first to shift, shuffling so he can pillow his head on Phil’s shoulder and nestle down with his arms curled around his waist. It’s a bit of another awkward position to tie in, but elbows and knees gets a little repetitive after a while.

They’ve finally settled down, breath even and calm when Phil speaks, his nose tracing Clint’s ear, “Didn’t think you’d get so hot over the idea of being pregnant.”

There’s a tutting sound in response. “You know how much I love that idea,” he reminds Phil, his tone jovial and teasing. When he continues, he’s a bit more subdued, “It’s more the long-term that freaks me out.”

Phil smooths his hands over Clint’s skin, reassuring, “You’ll do just fine. Look at how well you love me.”

A small smile stretches his lips where they’re pressed to the skin of his alpha’s throat, his voice a mere whisper, “I know. A kid’s just so much different.”

“We’ll learn together. All three of us.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little.. I guess iffy? about parts of this chapter. But I'm not sure what else to do with it, so. Here it is.
> 
> Also, I'm including a small summary of how some things work in my version of ABO verse.

Staying true to their previous ties this heat, they stay locked for a solid thirty minutes. Luckily Clint seems to have enough hormones floating around in his system to keep him appeased, cuddled in Phil’s lap with a litany of happy little sighs. He begins to fidget just a bit when his knot is nearly free. Clint stirs when it slips out, plants a wet kiss on his cheek and slumps down on Phil’s other shoulder. An amused chuckle shakes Phil’s chest and he strokes his mate’s hair, murmuring affectionately, “You seem like you’re feeling good.”

Clint hums his agreement without moving a muscle.

“Should get you cleaned up. Especially if you’re still bent on no shower,” he both reminds and teases, prodding his fingers along Clint’s ticklish ribs.

“Spoilsport,” Clint grouses, but sits up, shoving the offending hand from his side. He moves off of Phil in order to sprawl across the bed. “Hope you know you’re doing all the work.”

Phil gives a goodnatured huff as he gets up, “Like that’s anything new.” He ignores Clint blindly flipping him off as he wanders off to the bathroom. He takes the time to wipe himself off, tidy up and brush his teeth. He’s actually surprised to find Clint awake when he returns, still stretched out on his stomach but tracking his movement with his eyes. They’re both silent as Phil lovingly cleans the remnants of their coupling from his omega’s skin.

Clint’s eyes droop shut and he hums quietly. When prodded to, he rolls over, baring his front for Phil to clean. His eyes slit open when Phil’s finished, enjoying the sight of his alpha leaning over to kiss his stomach and join him on the bed. He tugs Phil closer, holding on to his arm like a teddy bear and pressing his toes to the side of Phil’s calf. Just as he’s drifting asleep, he presses his lips in a soft kiss to Phil’s shoulder.

\-----

They sleep for several hours this time, waking in the early hours of the morning. The sun is just barely lightening the sky as it rises over the horizon. Phil stretches with a groan and rolls his head to check on Clint. The man’s in a light sleep, just starting to move about restlessly. He scents the air, mouth cracked open. The heat scent is weaker, but still present. Perhaps only a single coupling left for this heat, he surmises; best make it count. Nestled by his side, he watches Clint slowly surface from sleep.

A tiny almost-moan sounds from Clint as he begins to stir. He wriggles against the sheets a moment before prying his eyes open. A delighted shiver rolls through him as he finds Phil's eyes fixed on him. He hums quietly, thoughtful. "Mount me?"

"Anything you want, baby," Phil murmurs back, his fingers tracing the line of Clint's spine.

A surprisingly serene smile fills Clint's face as he shuffles to kiss his alpha sweetly and get his knees under him. "Want you in me. Slow and steady."

His answer is a low groan. Phil kisses him soundly, licking into his mouth for a short while before kneeling behind his omega. Clint is wet, the slick glistening in the low light of the room. He noses along his perineum, tongue lapping at the sweetness. He fucks his tongue into him once, twice, slowly eating him out.

"Ah, Phillll," Clint whines, pressing his ass to his mate's face. "S'good to me," he mumbles, burying his face in the pillow.

Phil's hands knead at the flesh of Clint's ass, holding him open to better his access and the view. He hums softly, mouth over his sensitive hole, letting the vibration invade his senses.

Clint keens, high and long. When he tries to speak again, it's nearly a sob, "Phil. Please."

"I know babe," he assures him, giving one last broad stroke of his tongue over his hole before trailing kisses up his mate's back. Taking himself in hand, he guides his erection to sink slowly into Clint's waiting heat.

His back curves elegantly with the sensation and Clint gasps out, "Oh, hell. Y'fill me up so good. Fuck me, baby, please."

Phil starts up a gentle rhythm. "I got you, darling," he croons, folding himself over Clint so his back is warm against his own chest. His hips roll, slow and steady, just like his omega had asked; this coupling promises to be long and languorous.

Clint moans and whines, writhing beneath him but never asking for him to move any harder or faster. It's an odd act of patience from the man, but it's not entirely without precedence. He's not even wormed around to touch himself, his hands resolutely gripping the pillow. He'd be floating away in bliss if not for the feeling of Phil moving inside him grounding him.

His tempo gradually increases, just enough to be noticeable. He switches from long, smooth motions to short, firm thrusts, encouraging his knot as it begins to swell. A sob breaks off in Clint's throat as he presses his face into the pillow. Phil strokes his hands along his sides as he comes with a gasp, his mouth huffing moist air over Clint's shoulder blade.

Clint is shaking beneath him, still hard and twitching. Phil slips his hands to dance along his belly, one hand tracing shapes over quivering muscles while the other gently closes around Clint's cock. He strokes softly at first, his hand loose, then more firmly, taking the time to swipe his thumb over the tip with every other pass. Clint shudders apart in his arms, his orgasm rolling over him in waves, engulfed in sensation. His body clamps down, furthering their tie and prompting a fresh flow of semen. The world is all static and gray as Phil settles them on their sides; even his sense of touch seems muffled, everywhere except where Phil's knot fills him up.

"You're incredible," Phil sighs, mouthing at Clint's neck and snuggling him in his arms.

"Mm, yer not half bad yourself."

He pinches the nearest bit of skin in response, earning a disgruntled yelp. "Little snot," he mumbles affectionately.

Clint sighs happily, "But you love it."

"That I do."

They lapse into silence, curled up together, content for several minutes. That is, until Clint shifts, his elbow grazing over Phil's ribs and earning a muffled grunt.

"No breaking your alpha," he mumbles, face buried against Clint's back.

Clint simply hums a nonverbal not-answer - no snarky reply - and settles back down.

Phil's face scrunches slightly. "You're awfully quiet over there." While a silent Clint isn't unheard of, it usually accompanies a less restless Clint. His only answer is a one shouldered shrug. Phil props himself up on his elbow, trying to catch sight of his mate's face. His knot is still very much engaged, limiting his range of motion. He runs his fingertips lightly along Clint's jaw. "What's on your mind, baby?"

An almost surprised sound rises from Clint as he turns his head to look at his alpha. He sighs because of course Phil would notice before even he was fully aware of something niggling at his mind. He turns into Phil's touch against his cheek, pretending he can't feel the flush rising there. "Think this is about it for this heat."

Phil nods with a small sound; he's figured as much from Clint's scent.

"Just was thinking. You know. Could be our last heat for a while." He's resolutely not looking at Phil, a very easy thing to accomplish tied as they are.

"About a year, yeah," he says with another nod, dropping a kiss to Clint's shoulder. "What part of that is bothering you?"

Clint shrugs again, turning so his face is closer to the pillow, embarrassed. "I just..," he trails off with a groan, "this is _stupid_. I like having you take care of me like this."

 _Oh._ Realization strikes Phil like a blow upside the head. "Clint... you think you have to be in heat for me to look after you? Honey, you know I take care of you all time."

"I _know_. That's why this is so dumb."

Phil nuzzles his mate, enveloping him in his arms. "Baby, you have to know how much I love taking care of you. I know how stubborn and strong you are, so I let you have your space, but I will do anything and everything you want me to do."

Clint whines, wanting nothing more than to rollover in Phil's arms and snuggle into his chest. Instead, he scrabbles for one of Phil's hands and interlocks their fingers, holding on for dear life. "Philll. I love you."

“I love you too, baby.” He kisses every inch of easily accessible skin in front of him. One of his hands settles over Clint’s stomach. “You don’t have anything to worry about. I imagine I’m going to be wanting to do a lot for you when you’re pregnant." He pauses to give more kisses, murmuring into Clint's skin between presses of his lips, "Even if we never had another heat together, I will always take care of you. However you want, whenever you let me."

Clint responds by twisting in his arms as fully as he can manage with his ass flush up against Phil's groin; some of his acrobatics are certainly at play here. He pulls Phil the remaining distance and kisses his mouth. _God_ , Phil is perfect. "Always want you to," he whispers brokenly, moving his hand, index finger extended, palm up in small rotations. _Always._ His face is wet and he hates that, but he’s too busy showing his appreciation and love for Phil to be too bothered by it.

Phil quickly notices his tears and croons soft, quiet nonsense, kissing the tears away, his thumb brushing over Clint’s cheek.

They stay twisted in one another’s embrace, quietly loving on one another, for the remainder of their tie. Phil’s cock slips free and Clint rolls the rest of him over so he’s fully facing his alpha on the bed, tangling their legs together and pressing in close. He expects Phil to extricate himself so he can wash them both off, but he simply pulls Clint closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in my ABO verse, at least for this story, omegas have a heat approximately every three months. Heats last maybe two to three days with a day before and after where symptoms present and recouping is done, respectively. There are, of course, variation from individual to individual. Heats are a hormonally driven time which can lend itself to some mood swings or more pronounced moods. Because of the anatomy involved, I see omegas having a lesser appetite during (and maybe shortly before) their heats. This lessens the amount of food in their digestive tract, making for a cleaner experience. I have toyed with the idea of male omegas having a separate entrance, not quite a vagina, but something similar. If you have an opinion on this particular detail, I'd love to hear it. I could be compelled to alter the story to fit that detail if folks wouldn't balk at it.
> 
> Alphas in particular, but all genders, can scent the air. I imagine them doing this by breathing in through both the nose and mouth at the same time. This allows the air to pass through the nose as well as over a sort of gland or sensory organ in/near the roof of the mouth. Scents are not just limited to heat scents. Each individual has a unique scent, though it is generally a mild scent that is not readily apparent. Certain things such as stress, emotion, and, of course, a heat, can make the scent stronger and/or alter it slightly. A person may be more attuned to one's particular scent if they are mates, friends, or around that person often. Basically, it's not common practice for folks to go around scenting each other.
> 
> Gestation is the average nine months. After birth, it takes a while for the omega's system to straighten itself out and return to a cycle of regular heats, hence the "about a year" comment. Also, in my mind, babies born to male omegas tend to be on the smaller side to allow them to pass more easily through the narrower male pelvis. Their sacrum placement, however, is closer to that of a female (tilted back). If you want a visual on differences between male and female pelvises, [this picture](http://shs2.westport.k12.ct.us/forensics/11-forensic_anthropology/forensic_skeletons/pelvis%20by%20gender.gif) is very helpful. I will explain the mechanics of childbirth later.
> 
> Um. That's all that's coming to mind for now. I may add tidbits along the way. If you have any questions about my particular ABO verse here, feel free to leave them in a comment!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fluffy, post-heat time for the boys.

Hours later, Clint wakes with a grunt and rolls over, determined to go right back to sleep. Half a minute later, he's squirming in place with a whine. When Phil fixes him with a raised eyebrow, he complains, "My skin feels itchy."

Phil rolls his eyes and flops back on the bed. "I can't imagine why."

Clint reaches over to flick him on the forehead in retaliation.

“If you’re ready for a shower, I’ll wash you,” he offers, not bothering to lift his head.

“I am, but I don’t wanna get up yet,” Clint admits, rolling back to Phil and resting his head on the man’s shoulder.

He rolls his head toward Clint and deadpans, “I’m not carrying you to the shower.” The head on his shoulder turns and he feels the sharp pinch of teeth. “Hey!”

"S'not so bad now. Wanna sleep more," he mumbles, already half gone.

Phil shakes his head with an exasperated yet amused sigh and settles down again with an arm around Clint.

\-----

They each get in a few more hours of sleep before Phil stirs. He moves to roll off the bed only to find his arm being held captive by Clint. His dead-numb arm. It barely even moves when he tries to tug it free. He rolls his head back and forth several times, inwardly groaning. He needs his arm back but he’s always loathe to interrupt Clint’s post-heat sleeping. After a number of uncomfortable twinges in his arm, he gives in and rolls toward Clint a bit, touching his side with his free hand. The only reaction he gets is the man frowning and curling in on himself, burrowed beneath the sheets. “Clint,” he whispers, his tone desperate, half frustrated and urgent.

The man finally snorts himself awake, eyes blinking open in confusion. He finds Phil staring at him intensely and frowns. “What?”

“My arm’s dead,” Phil explains, his trapped arm giving a weak little wiggle, unable to keep the sigh out of his voice.

Sleep groggy eyes blink at him several times before moving to look at the arm in his possession. He carefully frees it, rubbing his hands lightly along the limb in apology to encourage blood flow. “Oops.”

Phil hisses quietly as the blood begins to rush back into his arm. He knows it will hurt in a moment. “You’re like an octopus sometimes when you sleep, baby,” he teases, leaning over to kiss Clint. That small movement has his face wrinkling up as he rolls back and holds his arm as absolutely still as possible. “Damn. Ow ow ow.”

Clint has the sense to look a little sheepish as he accepts the affection. When Phil retreats to favor his arm, however, he laughs and rolls up to sit slouched over with his legs crossed in front of himself. He watches in amused sympathy as the feeling slowly burns its way through Phil’s arm.

The man himself is less than impressed and, in a childish moment, sticks out his tongue in protest. He’d be a bit more physical with his reprisal had it not been likely to send shockwaves of that odd, indescribable pain through him. It takes a few minutes, but his arm finally regains both feeling and the ability to move without screaming at him. He shakes his arm out and surges up, closing his teeth over the side of Clint’s neck, just firmly enough for him to feel. “Cheeky little brat.” A wet kiss layers over the same skin before shifting back into his own space, just a bit.

Clint snaps his teeth at Phil, somewhere between playful and warning. “Mmm, yeah, you knew what you were signing up for,” he hums, his hands wrapped around his ankles where they’re folded in front of him. He’s loose and relaxed and happy in the wake of his heat. He leans forward and kisses his alpha sweetly, lingering for a few moments.

Phil hums, caressing Clint’s cheek gently. “You ready for that shower?”

“Ugh, yes,” he groans, tossing his head back. “I don’t remember ever _not_ wanting a shower in the middle of my heats.”

He laughs easily, “I can’t say I wasn’t a little surprised by that.”

Clint has a mock-offended look on his face when he cuffs Phil over the head, light and playful. Phil, in turn, ducks his head and tackles his mate to the mattress. The whole thing turns into bout of silly wrestling complete with tickle attacks. They both wear one another out and eventually end up flopped on the bed panting and giggling, side by side, with no clear winner.

“Okay. Shower. I feel gross,” Clint breaks the silence first, reaching over to swat at Phil. He sits on the edge of the bed a minute, removing his aids and leaving them on the side table.

The man grunts a non-answer, but gets up and follows Clint wandering into the bathroom. Clint, rubbing his ears, makes a beeline for the toilet to pee and Phil meanders to the shower, turning it on and getting the water warmed up. He ushers his mate into the stall before slipping in behind him. Clint visibly melts, moaning at the sensation of the water washing over him. Phil kisses his bare shoulder and grabs the shampoo to wash his hair. “Wet your hair,” he murmurs, tugging at a lock of Clint’s hair and signing with his arms around him, the fingers of both hands pointing up and closing them to a point. Clint obliges, lazily leaning forward to let the water flow over his head briefly before straightening back up.

Phil smooths the shampoo over messy blond hair, covering the area before massaging it into his scalp with tiny little circles of his fingertips. Clint sighs, his head tilting back in bliss. Fully lathered, he nudges the man forward to rinse his hair. The bubbles swirl about the floor at their feet.

Soap is next. Phil gathers up bar and begins rubbing it over Clint’s back in broad swipes, following up with his free hand to scrub him clean. Down his arms, over his buttocks, careful attention to his still sensitive hole. The length of strong legs, feet, and then back up to reach around his torso to clean his chest and stomach. Delicate touches as he washes his genitals. Not even the slightest twitch from either of them. The heat has left them well and truly spent. Clint leans back against Phil’s chest, his head rolling back to rest on a shoulder, content to expose his throat to his alpha as he cares for him so gently. Phil puts the soap aside, simply stroking hands over Clint’s wet skin, pressing kisses to his neck. It’s a tender, peaceful moment he wouldn’t trade for the world.

He’s distracted, calm and drowsy, when Clint turns to face him, soap in hand. Without a word, he washes Phil with the same care to detail. When he’s satisfied, he exchanges the soap for shampoo and works it into Phil’s hair methodically. They turn in a small circle, trading places to let Phil rinse the soap from his hair before shutting the water off. Clint opens the fogged-over glass door and fishes an arm out to retrieve both of their towels. His own draped over his shoulder, he tosses Phil’s over his head to dry his hair, snickering quietly when the man shoves it back off his face.

Phil patiently lets Clint dry him off as fully as he can in the shower stall before guiding them both out on to the rug. Water runs down Clint’s tanned skin to drip on the soft, fluffy rug, forming a dark, wet spot. He maneuvers the towel from Clint’s shoulder to lightly wipe away the lingering moisture from the omega’s body. Dry with the exception of their hair, Phil deposits their towels in the hamper.

Clint trails after Phil, back into the bedroom, both of them naked and at ease.

Phil digs out two pairs of sweatpants and passes one to Clint. “Shirt?” he asks, pinching at the top of his bare chest with his thumb and index fingers in a pulling motion, before pulling another drawer open.

He considers the question as he steps into the soft blue cotton pants. “Mm, yeah. One of yours?” His fist rocks out yes, and he holds out a flat palm facing Phil. _Yours._

There’s a fond smile on Phil’s face as he offers up a well-loved t-shirt, a light gray thing with a Captain America shield on the front.

“Dork,” Clint mumbles, pulling the shirt over his head. There’s a grin on his face, though, and he sighs happily with the scent of his alpha on the shirt surrounding him.

Phil has his own purple tee on over gray pants. It’s all pretty typical post-heat clothing; perfect for a lazy evening of recuperating.

The pair moves to the kitchen together where Clint pours two glasses of water, downing one quickly, leaving the other for Phil. Surveying the contents of their fridge, Phil's voice is a bit muffled from where he's half hidden behind the door, "Leftovers alright?” Sometimes he still makes mistakes, speaking to deaf ears. He turns, taps Clint for his attention and, with his eyebrows raised moves both his hands, palms facing one another down. _Leftovers. Yes or no?_

Clint shrugs a single shoulder and turns to refill his water, “Sure.”

Pasta from two nights ago is split into a bowl for each of them and stuffed into the microwave, one at a time. The first bowl goes to Clint who digs in immediately only to drop the fork back in the bowl when he burns his tongue on the first bite. Leaning against the counter, shoulder to shoulder, they devour the meal in comfortable silence.

Dishes rinsed and loaded in the dishwasher, they settle on the couch in the living room, each with a fresh glass of water on the coffee table. Phil had taken the time to fetch Clint’s aids from their room and he leaves them on the coffee table for whenever he wants them. Clint stretches out on the cushions, his head pillowed on Phil’s thigh. Phil threads his fingers through Clint’s hair and absently peruses the selection on television, remote in his left hand to leave the right free for signing. Index finger pointed, then curling back, he moves his hand toward Clint, a lazy question. “Any requests?”

“Nah. Just you.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ho hum. The boys go back to work.~

After deciding he’d rather hear than read what was happening on screen, Clint stuffs his aids back in. His ears have to be dry enough. A couple hours into watching bad reality television, Clint’s snide, interspersed comments fade off into soft snores. Phil strokes his hair fondly and lets him nap through a couple episodes of Wife Swap before clicking the TV off and rousing him. “Clint.. You ready to go to bed?”

“Mmph,” he grunts, rolling onto his back to look up at Phil. “Yeah, I guess so. Work tomorrow?” He’s lost track of the day.

Phil hums an affirmative, smoothing out Clint’s hair. “Sounds like we’ll be back just in time for this op Fury wants you on.”

Clint groans, burying his face against Phil’s stomach. “The one day I’m looking forward to catching up on paperwork.”

There’s an answering snort and Phil taps Clint’s head. “You do recall that _I_ do most of your paperwork, right?”

“Mmm, woulda been my chance to give you a break.”

Phil just shakes his head, nudging the man off his lap. Heading toward the bathroom, he calls back, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Clint rolls to his feet and pads out to the kitchen, their water glasses in tow. He refills his own, guzzling it before loading them to be washed. Mindlessly, he pours in some detergent and starts the dishwasher before wandering off to the bedroom. He passes Phil on the way to the bathroom. “Tell Fury to stop sending me out, then,” he goads with a grin.

He’s caught up in Phil’s arms, the man pressed solidly against his back a second later. “I may have to soon,” is a soft growl in his ear as Phil’s hands settle possessively low over Clint’s stomach. He nips at the shell of Clint’s ear and turns him loose again with a swat at his ass.

Left reeling a bit by his alpha’s display, Clint staggers off to brush his teeth. The warmth he feels in his face has faded by the time he returns to the bedroom. Phil has a fresh set of sheets on the bed, the soiled ones tucked in the hamper to be washed.

“I do hope you were ready for clean sheets,” he implores wryly, folding back the covers.

“Mm, nah, I thought we could roll around in those a few more days.” He almost doesn’t make it through saying that with a straight face.

Phil mumbles, “Think I’d be relegating myself to the couch.”

Clint sniffs, a small mock-offended sound. “Ah, Phil, you wound me.” He flicks off the light, takes his aids out, and slides into bed beside his mate.

“Of course I do, sweetheart.” His hand twists at the wrist, clockwise and his first two fingers tap at the back of his left hand. _Of course._ He rolls right up against Clint’s side and nestles in close, his head pillowed on the man’s chest.

\-----

The next morning, as they’re finishing breakfast, Phil passes Clint a pill bottle. At the perplexed look, he explains, "Medical said you aught to start taking these early. I, uh.. bought you some a while back.”

Clint turns the pill bottle to read it. Prenatal vitamins. Right. He remembers them talking about how it's better to take them assuming he’s pregnant than to wait for a positive test. He takes a moment to read the side of the bottle. One pill daily. That’s not so bad. He silently opens the cap and swallows one down. He flashes Phil smile as he stashes the bottle in the cabinet, hoping he doesn't notice the way the corners of his mouth wobble a bit.

\-----

The changes continue with Phil apologetically cutting him off after a single cup of coffee. He offers decaf but Clint balks at it; he drinks the coffee for the caffeine! Clint escapes to the shooting range, still awaiting orders and debrief on the mission Phil had mentioned the night before. Though he would adamantly deny it, he's sulking. Soon enough, he's lost in the nock, pull, breeaath, release of loosing arrows at targets. This is how Phil finds him, several dozen arrows planted firmly in targets throughout the room.

"Ready for me, sir?" Clint asks, letting the arrow he has nocked fly.

Phil waits a beat to answer, watching two more arrows sail at their targets. "Not quite. Just checking on you."

Clint falters, slowly lessening the tension on the bowstring and lowering the bow to his side, an arrow still nocked in place. "I'm fine Phil, just getting in my practice."

"Mhm." Phil isn’t giving him the benefit of the doubt, he can tell.

Heaving a sigh, Clint sets the bow down and stashes the arrow back in the quiver. "I am fine Phil, honest. Still wrapping my head around things, that's all," he assures him quietly.

Phil closes the distance between them, curling a hand around his neck and giving him a gentle kiss. "I know," he murmurs. His tone is more firm, part handler, part alpha, when he continues, "You tell me if your head's not in this mission, alright? Fury can pull someone else for it."

Clint nods, eyes low but earnest. "I won't go if I don't think I can do my job. You know that."

\-----

The call for debrief comes a few hours later. They’re set for wheels up in thirty and Clint jogs off to make sure his pack is ready. Double checking his bow and supply of arrows. Emergency kit with first aid, MREs and water. Standard field snacks - things generally designed to be as scentless as possible (and therefore just as tasteless). He notices a pack of pills amongst his supplies that hadn't been there before. Brow furrowed, he opens them up. They’re unlabeled, but identical to the pills from this morning. Prenatals. Of course. Phil must have stashed them here. His heart warmed, he goes about the absurd task of packing pills in a manner that won't allow them to rattle about.

\-----

The mission goes about as routinely as expected. Clint takes to his nest with Phil’s voice in his ear. He’s primarily serving as back up. A set of eyes at a distance to watch over the target area. He takes down a few stray baddies but ends up having a guy sneak up on him in his perch. The resulting scuffle is relatively brief but he takes a couple hits, leaving abrasions and bruises.

It's early in the morning following their deployment when they’re airborne headed back to base. Clint can tell Phil’s resisting the urge to check over his wounds.

Debrief is a relatively short affair, out of the way by the time they land.

Phil corrals Clint off to one side, still in the hangar. “Medical put in a request to check on you after your heat. You can have them look at your injuries while you’re there.”

He groans, face wrinkled up, “Aw Phil, I just wanna go to sleep. I don’t have anything worse than a few scrapes. They can poke at me after I’ve had a nap, can’t they?”

Phil eyes him critically before his face softens a bit. “Fine. Go get some shut eye. Report to medical when you wake up.” He brushes a light kiss over Clint’s forehead before falling back into his Serious Agent persona and striding off.

Clint sighs a sigh of relief and shuffles off to his room on base. He doesn’t use it too often, mostly for post mission sleeping, so it’s relatively barren. His bag thumps on the floor where he drops it just inside the door. He has half a mind to remember to pop one of his pills before he's flopping face down on the mattress, fully clothed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized that I'm (sort of??) incorporating elements of Clint from the Hawkeye comics, but I've left out the fact that he becomes deaf during the course of the story. I'm fond of the fact that he is deaf in the comics. (Is that sadistic of me? I guess I just like how he's strong and still able to do his job without hearing 100%) Anyway, the point I'm trying to make is that thus far, he isn't deaf in this story. Would there be any reader opposition to him being deaf? I would give him his hearing aid, of course.
> 
> The options for him being deaf would be:  
> Retrofitting his deafness into the story. In this version, Phil would already know ASL. (The situation would be similar to the comics, deaf period during childhood, deaf again in adulthood.)  
> With this option, I would write a sort of prequel about Clint losing his hearing - this could be in line with the events in the comics or something different. (Coping, teaching Phil to sign, etc. would be covered here.)  
> or  
> Having him take a hit on a mission resulting in a similar level of deafness. (He would still have the period of deafness from his childhood so he would be able to read lips and sign.) In this case, he would teach Phil how to sign.  
> I'm iffy on this second option because I'm not sure how the stress of a deafening hit, dealing with becoming deaf, etc might impact a potential pregnancy.  
> 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clint goes to medical under Phil's persuasion.

He's woken by his door creaking open several hours later. With a groan, he buries his face more firmly into the slightly scratchy Shield-issue pillow. The mattress dips beside him but he ignores it in favor of staring at the endless black of the inside of his eyelids.

“I know you’re awake.”

His response is half muffled by his pillow, the way his face is smashed into it. “N’I’m not.” His hand signs out _no_ a few times, his first two fingers pinching down quickly to meet his thumb.

Phil hums a wordless reply, resting a hand over Clint’s back. “I’m about done for the day. The sooner you swing by medical, the sooner we can go home.”

And as enticing as that sounds that.. “Involves moving,” he mumbles, turning his head just enough so his mouth is clear to speak.

“We can pick up take-out from that place down the street you’ve been wanting.” Really, he’d been planning on stopping by the sandwich shop anyway, but Phil knows how to use certain things to his advantage.

Clint’s head pops up, eyes blinking open. “Yeah? Pickles and everything?”

“Mhmm.”

He sits up, twisting to pop his back. “Alright. Let’s go. I’m sure they’ll want me to piss in a cup for them, so.. best get moving.” Phil snorts his amusement and follows Clint out of his room and down the halls. Medical is two floors up and Clint skips the elevator in favor of the stairs. He strides straight up to the counter once they’re there.

“Agent Barton. Agent Coulson,” the receptionist greets them both. “Doctor Snyder will be with you in a few minutes if you’d like to have a seat.”

Phil moves to sit, but Clint stays put. “Hey, listen..” He peers at the lady’s name tag, “Christina. They’re probably gonna want a urine specimen, right? You think we could get that part going?” he leans down against the counter, flashing his most convincing smile.

“Oh. Um. Of course! Let me just.. grab a nurse,” the receptionist blushes and scampers off.

“Clint,” Phil admonishes quietly from his seat.

“What? I really have to pee.”

Phil just shakes his head at the man’s innocent expression.

Christina returns quickly with a nurse in tow. The nurse gestures Clint along, “Right this way Agent Barton.” They go through a door and just before the start of a hallway, there’s a patient bathroom. The nurse, Linda, her name tag declares, holds out a specimen cup for Clint, "You know what to do."

Clint snatches the cup on the way in, locks the door and tends to his business. Hands washed and feeling much lighter, thank you, he steps out to hand over the cup to a straight-faced Linda. She may or may not be familiar with his antics. He shows himself back out to the waiting area and plops his ass into the seat next to Phil. He ignores the sideways glance he receives.

Another nurse, Gloria, comes to fetch them. "Agent Barton." Her disposition is much friendlier than the previous one. Both Clint and Phil follow her to a room. Phil takes a chair tucked to the side and Clint takes the paper-covered exam table, letting his feet swing over the edge. Gloria is kind and efficient, taking Clint's vitals with a smile, talking through the process. Clint doesn't even care that it's stuff he's familiar with; she's too sweet to be irked by.

Doctor Snyder joins her as she's folding away the blood pressure cuff. "Agent Barton, Agent Coulson," he greets. "I take it your first implant-free heat was as expected?" He's eyeing up the field gear Clint's still wearing. Clearly if Clint had returned to the field, nothing detrimental must have occurred. Or, more likely, he’s familiar with Clint’s track record regarding medical and knows it’s a necessary question. Smart man.

Clint shrugs. Straight to the point then. "There was sex, yes."

"Clint," Phil intercedes, though he looks faintly amused. The doctor himself is hiding a smirk. "His preheat symptoms were a bit amplified and our ties lasted longer than they have in the past, but otherwise it was normal." He ignores Clint's quiet snort.

"Without the implant I'm a walking ball of hormones," he adds, looking just a little disgruntled.

"That's all perfectly normal, especially considering how long you've been on the implant. And by hormones, I assume you mean emotions?" Clint nods. "It's just your body figuring out how to regulate your hormones on it's own again. The longer ties could be related to that or a byproduct of the fact that you two are actually intending to conceive." He takes a few moments, jotting down notes. “Speaking of, have you started taking a prenatal supplement?”

He fidgets in his seat - this is harder to be flippant about - but he answers with a steady voice, “Yesterday, yeah. Right after my heat ended.”

Snyder nods approvingly and continues on, "Good. If they give you any stomach upset, you can take them with food. You should be able to get a reliable answer from a home test after about two to three weeks. Or we can run the test here. Serum tests are more sensitive than urine. They tend to show positive sooner.”

“I’ll just.. do one at home if that’s cool.”

“Whatever you’re comfortable with.” Snyder shrugs, scribbling out something else on his chart.  
“Clint, I'd like to get a blood sample to check your hormone levels since it seems they may have been little out of whack during your heat."

His nose wrinkles at the mention of blood work, but he's genuinely amused by the doctor's choice of words. “Out of whack, huh doc.. that the technical term for it? Have at it," he cajoles, offering out his right arm. Snyder simply smiles a little dryly.

The nurse, Gloria again, folds a cushioned arm rest over in front of Clint and gathers the necessary tubes. She's quick but gentle. He watches her work, but his eyes never drop to look at the needle.

“Are you also needing a post-mission check?” The doctor is now tapping away at a laptop, probably reviewing Clint’s mission history.

“Nothing major - “

“Yes, please,” Phil cuts him off, talking right over him. Clint levels an exasperated glare at his mate but has sense enough to keep his mouth shut.

Doctor and nurse exchange a brief look. Snyder turns his attention back to his patient, “Strip down, agent.”

Grumbling along the way, Clint toes off his boots, shoves off his pants and tugs his top over his head, his wince hidden by the material as it covers his face. He deems it sufficient and leaves his boxers on. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said there was nothing serious. There’s a bruise blooming purple over his right shoulder blade, some scrapes along his right side and his knuckles, and a few less impressive bruises dotting his torso.

Snyder gives him a once over, gently prodding at the bruises and making Clint demonstrate the range of motion of his shoulder. A quick application of antibiotic ointment to the scrapes, instructions to rest his shoulder and they’re on their way out the door: sandwich bound!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After reading the comments on the previous chapter and weighing the possibilities, I have decided to retrofit this story with Clint being deaf. I actually just finished doing this. There are not a lot of changes, just a few things here and there if you feel like hunting them down. In addition, I am writing a prequel to tell how Clint becomes deaf and how he and Phil cope with it.
> 
> My knowledge and understanding of hearing impaired and deafness is limited. As such, I would greatly appreciate any input if any of my readers have experience with this, whether it be first hand, a loved one, friend, medical point of view, anything. Also, anyone that knows or is familiar with sign language, lip reading, hearing aids, etc, I could use information on these areas as well. I want to do the subject justice and portray it appropriately.
> 
> On a side note, if I've misused signs or portrayed something incorrectly, _please_ let me know, and if you can, how to fix it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, so sorry for the long wait! I thought I'd be able to get another chapter up before I got busy with lab rotations/classes/etc. But that clearly wasn't the case. At any rate, here's more <3 Hope it's worth the wait?

Just as Phil promised, they stop by the sandwich shop on the way home. They get an Italian club and a reuben with house-made chips and pickles. Clint is drooling over the bag the whole way home.

Clint makes a beeline for the coffee table, the bag of food securely in his possession. Phil slides a plate beneath his hand just as he starts to lay out their neatly wrapped sandwiches. Clint simply rolls his eyes at Phil’s raised eyebrow. He obliges the silent reminder to use plates however and carefully deposits Phil’s reuben on to his plate.

They eat in peace, lazily picking at chips, nibbling at pickles and their sandwiches, occasionally stealing bites of each others.

Before long the food is polished off, all but the chips. Phil clears away their plates and the trash as Clint stretches out with the last of the chips settled on his belly. It's not too surprising. Clint's appetite is usually voracious after his heats and this time is no exception. After the unease of his hormones off the implant, this is something of a comfort for Clint. Hungry and a day or two of laziness, that he can deal with.

Phil returns with two glasses of water. They're mostly for Clint, but he always grabs two regardless. Even if Clint winds up stealing his. He slumps on the couch beside Clint, swipes a chip and deftly ducks the resulting swat in retaliation.

\-----

Two days later, Clint is in the middle of a session in the shooting range, adamantly disregarding doctor's orders to rest his shoulder (it's _fine_ , barely even sore), when his phone chimes. He almost ignores it, but scoops it up to answer at last second. His voice is a little gruff when he picks up, "Barton." He doesn't like being disturbed when he's at the range, so sue him.

"Yes, Agent Barton. This is doctor Snyder. We have your lab results in." The man pauses and Clint hates it. What is he supposed to say?

He caves after a few seconds of silence, "And?" Still irritated.

“Well, your hormone levels are slightly elevated, but we don’t think it’s anything to be concerned about. It’s not uncommon to see slightly increased hormone production to compensate after the removal of a contraceptive implant. We’ll recheck your levels in a few weeks, just to monitor and make sure you’re returning to normal ranges.”

Clint sighs out the tiniest breath. There’s nothing wrong with him. At least according to the doctor. Regardless, it eases some of the tension his body. “Good to know doc,” he replies distractedly, swimming in his own mind.

“Sure thing. Be sure to contact us if you have any concerns or decide you want us to run a serum pregnancy test for you.”

Clint tries not to cringe, steadfastly ignoring the invitation. The briefest of goodbyes are exchanged and tosses his phone down on to his bag. He’s quickly relieved to still be in the shooting range, gathers up his bow and settles into the rhythmic act of loosing arrows before moving on to more challenging targets.

\-----

It’s a couple hours later and Clint is significantly calmer. He’d managed to work out even the residual undercurrent of stress from his muscles. His mind is another matter but, for the time being, it’s cooperating. He taps on the doorframe and lets himself into Phil’s office. When he leans his head in, he sees Phil on the phone, but waving him in anyway. Clint shrugs and settles onto the couch tucked to one side of the room to wait. He zones out staring at the wall.

Clint actually startles when he notices Phil standing in front of him. Looking closer, he can see the concern pulling at his features.

"Everything alright?"

Clint bobs his head, reaching out a hand to Phil, "Yeah. Medical called about my blood work. Elevated hormones but it's apparently normal, considering."

Phil accepts his hand, threading their fingers together. "Isn't that good?"

He pauses, looking up to meet Phil's eyes. "Yeah, it is."

"Then why do you look like it's not?" he asks gently, moving a bit closer and carding the fingers of his free hand through Clint's hair.

Clint shakes his head, eyes fixated low. Phil quietly lets him gather himself. "You don't mind that I don't want them poking at me to run pregnancy tests and stuff, right?" He keeps his eyes averted and his shoulders hunch a little.

"Clint.." He trails off, sounding slightly surprised. "Of course not baby. I know you don't like medical. Whatever you're comfortable with is just fine with me."

The resulting smile is just a little wobbly. Clint leans forward, pressing the side of his face to Phil's stomach, conveniently at eye level. Phil just strokes his hair, gently holding him close.

\-----

A week later, the call comes for the Avengers to converge upon a suspected Hydra base. Clint knows Phil is antsy about him being in the field with potential enhanced. They’ve been over the situation from every angle. They can’t even know if Clint’s pregnant yet. He made that point very clear: they have no excuse to pull him from the mission at hand. Phil had insisted they could argue that he needed time away from field work for his bruised shoulder until Clint pointed out that he had willingly walked into much more intimidating ops with much worse preexisting injuries. Phil was forced to concede. That didn’t mean he was happy about it.

So now Clint is off gathering his gear and restocking his pack, the back of his mind buzzing with Phil’s concern. This time, at least, he has the no-rattle pill packing thing down to an art. Cotton balls are his friends, okay? He’s just stashing them safely inside his bag when he hears company approaching.

“Hey birdbrain.”

Clint doesn’t even bother to look in Tony’s direction as he finishes checking over his pack. “What’sa matter iron lung?”

There’s a faint huff that he can’t distinguish from a sound of irritation or a laugh without facial cues. “That’s how it’s gonna be? I happen to think you’re gonna really like what I’ve brought for you.”

He’s instantly suspicious and it shows. He peers over his shoulder wearily a moment before slowly turning to face the man. “Why are you even on base?”

The man shrugs with a carefree, “Why not?” Though he’s clearly a little uncomfortable with the question from his body language. Clint tilts his head, eyebrows raised pointedly. Tony finally caves, rolls his eyes and tosses a little silver case at him.

Clint catches it without even thinking. He turns it over in his hands a few times, examining the case, still with an air of suspicion about him.

“New tech,” is the only offered explanation. “Might want to try it out before we get in the field.”

If that’s not a hint, Clint’s not sure what is. He fiddles with the box until he has it open. The sight makes him pause. Sure, Stark has been making tweaks to his aids for a while now, but he hadn’t even mentioned building him _custom aids_. He blinks down at them in something resembling shock.

“I’ve been working on those for a while. I was going to have you come to the lab to test them out, but I figured they might be useful for our upcoming foray.”

Clint doesn’t say a word, just eases the things - still purple _of course_ \- out of their case, twisting them this way and that between his fingers. They’re lightweight and sleek, looking all kinds of promising.

Tony keeps rambling on, a deep seeded need to fill the silence, “They’re made to be adaptive to your surroundings and alter the volume, filter out any extraneous noises. Shouldn’t be able to hear any of the static you’ve complained about before either. The material is breathable, meaning you can keep them in longer and moisture is less of an issue.”

Only half listening to the guy, he pops out one of his hearing aids, keeping the ear still assisted tilted toward Tony out of habit. A couple attempts has the new aid nestled nicely in his ear. He can barely feel the thing. He does the same with the left ear. This aid has a small piece that curves over the back of his ear. Despite how great they feel, they don’t seem to be on. He states as much to Tony who steps toward him.

His hands are spread wide in a gesture suggesting he’s harmless. It doesn’t really fool Clint, but he just barely twitches as Tony reaches a hand behind Clint’s left ear to touch the back of the aid.

Sound comes rushing in, making him cringe the tiniest bit. After a moment he begins to adjust.

“Sorry. Should’ve shown you how to work them. There’s a tiny switch on the back there for on/off, buttons for volume adjustment, and - oh! - there’s a built in comm! So there’s a control for that too. The two aids are linked so you only need the controls on one side. I’m also gonna load an app on your phone to tweak different settings as needed. You know, if one ear needs more help than the other or whatever.”

Clint’s staring at Tony a little like he’s grown a second head. These things sound too good to be true.

Tony trails off, catching sight of the look he’s getting. “Uhh. They are working right? You can hear me?” He speaks a little slower, enunciating a bit more as if to help if Clint is stuck reading his lips.

His head shakes a little and Stark’s face falls. “Nah, I can hear you fine.”

“Jerk,” he mumbles, adopting a pouty look on his face.

Clint chuckles, “What? You were honestly worried that something _you_ built wasn’t working?” Teasing is good. That’s normal between them. Not the grateful emotion welling up in his throat.

“Of course not!” he scoffs, abhorrent of the idea. “Thought maybe something in your brain was broken.”

“Uh huh,” he placates, fishing in his pack for the case for his other aids.

“No really, I was afraid you might not be suited to fight. You seemed a little addled, couldn’t have you out there all deaf and confused.”

“Fuck you, Stark,” he tosses back, though his tone lacks any malice. He stows his hearing aids and the case for the new ones. Rising to his feet, he slings the pack over his shoulder and starts to walk away. He pauses at the door, hesitating for half a second. “Hey.. thanks,” he mutters, his tone gruff, half from emotion and half from trying to hide it. He slips away before Tony can say anything back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any ideas for the upcoming mission? I could use 'em.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah mission stuffs. Minor conflict with baser instincts. Still trying to sort out how the mission itself will play out. :C Ideas and suggestions are welcome.
> 
> Hope ya guys enjoy it.

An hour later the team, sans Thor who is inconveniently unavailable, is loaded on a quinjet for somewhere in South America. Clint’s still perusing his briefing packet. He fishes his tablet out and begins mapping out the precise target area. Someplace near the coast of Venezuela. He hunkers down in the corner by his gear, folder and tablet at hand, going over the rough game plan and refining it.

Cap and Phil have their heads together, pouring over their own aspects of the mission. Cap nods his head at something and turns to face the plane’s open area, his voice commanding enough to reach everyone, “Briefing in five.”

There’s a myriad of acknowledgements before the hum of everyone conversing rises. Time to iron out any last minute kinks. Clint taps on his chin and stretches one of his legs out as he surveys the map to pick out the best vantage points for himself and any vulnerable corners to steer everyone else away from.

The group convenes around a large table with holographic capabilities. Only Tony requires nudging to get his attention focused in the right spot. Phil takes charge, laying out the mission parameters and objectives. “Alright. As you may know, we’ve been keeping an eye on this little operation near the Eastern border of Venezuela. It’s been clear they’re dirty, dealing weapons, drugs, tech, even people.” He pauses, letting that tidbit of information really sink in. The only one among them to not shift their weight or look away is, unsurprisingly, Natasha. “It’s been made clear in the past week that they have strong ties to Hydra. One Bertrand Holtzer is the man in charge. The primary objective is to dismantle the base, secondary is to capture, contain, or eliminate any personnel. Holtzer should be taken alive if it does not jeopardize the mission or the team. It’s likely that he holds valuable information. Romanoff. Before the servers are wiped, sift through their files and salvage what we need.” He passes her a small thumb drive that she doesn’t even glance at, just tucks straight into a compartment in her suit. “You know what to look for,” he adds needlessly. She nods all the same. “Stark, you’re perimeter. Contain any targets. Do not let a single one escape.”

“Got it, Agent. You doubting my abilities?” he snarks, flexing his fingers inside his suit, watching the joints as they articulate.

Phil simply levels him a look that says he’s having none of his shit today.

Tony lifts his hands, palms forward in submission. “Fine. I’ll shut up.”

He continues on without further acknowledgement, “Barton. Eyes on everything. Find the best perch and settle there. Move only if absolutely necessary. You’re backing up Stark on taking out rogue targets.”

Even as he jots notes and double checks his own information, the omega in Clint is just swooning inside at the sight of his alpha being so strong and in control. He knows that’s something he’ll never tire of watching. It’s especially strong with his recent heat and even more so, it seems, now that they have the intention of breeding. _Not the time to be a weak-kneed little bitch, Barton_ , he coaches himself silently, his knuckles going white on the tablet in his hand. “Sir. I’ve mapped out potential routes.” A swipe of his hand has the plans on display for the team to see. He manipulates the image, highlighting the most promising paths and marking areas to avoid. “The best points of entry seem to be from the South and West, along here. These spots are dead-ends, deathtraps.” He makes the bad places glare red. He glances around to ensure everyone is taking note and that there seem to be no concerns. Cap is absently nodding his head, seeming in agreement. Finally, he taps on three potential nests for himself; the spots on the map glow yellow. “I’ll cover the team from one of these locations. This tower is the most promising, but it may be more trouble to appropriate than its worth. This is the next best, just a conveniently placed outcropping.”

“What about the third one? It looks like it has better cover.” The third nest is on the rooftop of a neighboring structure. Clint’s not precisely sure what the building is. He can see why Phil likes it. It’s further removed from the base, has better cover, and is likely easier to access.

That Phil is prepared to compromise his effectiveness in the field in favor of keeping him safer has him bristling. If they were alone, he would snap sense into his alpha in a second. As it stands, he needs to maintain a sense of composure and control. He tries to reason with himself; Phil may not even be fully aware of the motivation driving the decision. “It does. It’s also out of the way from the other two perches. If I need to move, I’d have to sacrifice my vantage point or go out of my way to reach one of the other two. Strategically, it’s an option but more as a last ditch effort if I’m displaced from a better nest or unable to secure either of the other nests.” He’s drawn himself up to full height, shoulders wide, by the end of his explanation, his blue eyes steely. Absolutely nothing about him in that moment says omega.

There’s a moment of tense, resounding silence before Phil bows his head. “Acknowledged and understood. You know you have ongoing clearance to select your own nests."

Tony and everyone gathered (but mostly Tony) wisely keep their mouths shut. Looks are exchanged however. There's no doubt that everyone can smell the protective alpha scent pouring off Phil. It's not unusual when they're on a mission, he's protective over all of them really, but it's a bit more pungent today.

Clint nods stiffly, “Sir.” It rubs him the wrong way to stand against his alpha, but damnit if he’s going to let himself be coddled unnecessarily. Phil will just have to swallow his overbearing desire to keep him hidden away.

Phil avoids eye contact with Clint as he moves the briefing along. “Rogers, you’re eyes on the inside. You’ll lead the strike team in. Neutralize any hostiles, but your target is Holtzer. If he rabbits, Stark, Barton, do what you can to incapacitate him. Lethal force is a last resort for Holtzer. Banner, you’ll remain on the jet on standby. In the event of code green, well. Do what he does best. As for parameters of calling a code green, only do so you’re unable to hold your ground. If you are not sure, call out a sitrep over the comm and I will make the call for you. You’ll be dropped to the South of the compound. Primary extraction will be to the West, near the coast. Secondary extraction is to the South, beyond this treeline.” Each spot is made clear on the map for all to see. He’s quiet then, looking around the gathering one by one. “Any questions?”

No one speaks.

“Good. We're wheels down at 0830.”

They disperse and Clint checks his watch. Almost an hour til they’re set to arrive. He settles back down by his gear, studying the plans again. He’s engrossed in his work when he remembers the time. Clint unearths the carefully packed pills and removes one from the nest of cotton balls, swallowing it down with some water. He sees Natasha eyeing him from across the plane but ignores it. She’s liable to figure it out on her own. If she hasn’t already. He locates a high calorie protein bar in his pack and absently munches on it as he returns to the mission at hand.

Sometime later he's exhausted any and all prep work he can. He tilts his head back to rest against the side of the plane, intending to catch a nap before they land. Instead he catches Phil watching him. Clint blinks lazily at him. Phil's hands come up and he starts signing at him. _Saw new aids. Good?_

Clint signs an affirmative. _You knew about this?_ His brows are raised, both in slight surprise and as supplement to the signs.

Phil shrugs. _Suspected._ There's a pause. Half of the team that had been watching them have lost interest. Most of them (or all except Natasha) understand little to no sign language. Still, Phil hesitates to speak of private matters on the job, even in sign. _About earlier.. sorry. Need to keep my hormones under control._

He outright snorts. _No shit. It's okay. I understand why._ He avoids mentioning their intentions of breeding, aware of Natasha's keen eye most likely spying on them from her seat. That's not a conversation he needs to have today. He does, however, tack on a quick, _I love you_. Phil's tiny half smile registers along with his repetition of the same phrase before his eyes slink shut, a satisfied smirk pulling at his lips.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, I'm sorry for the long wait. The mission had me stumped. Still not pleased but I think it's okay. I mostly skipped over it, pff.

Clint is roused awake as the jet begins to descend. The strike team is nearby gathering their weapons and supplies. He watches them for a minute before rolling himself up off the floor. He tilts his head side to side, sighing when it pops. Checking over his gear one last time, he ensures his arrows are secured in their quiver. He kicks his pack a little further out of the way as he secures his quiver to his back. An additional pack of arrows is strapped to his right thigh, a pistol to his left. Extra ammo weighs down a couple of his pockets. His hand checks the knife at the back of his waistband and another inside his right boot. Another pat at the pouch containing a small set of throwing knives at his hip. Last is his bow. He lifts it from its case and, after a compulsory once over, it joins his quiver against his back.

By the time he’s finished, Natasha and Cap have approached. Stark’s already left the plane with firm orders to stay out of sight until the rest of the team is within range. He’s always leery of the man’s ability to do anything with any level of stealth. Discrete is something Tony Stark just does not do.

He refuses to concern himself with the man at least until he’s left the jet.

\-----

It’s clear within minutes of his boots touching the ground that something is off. He taps the hearing aid in his ear reflexively as he obsessively scans the area. His immediate surroundings are safe so he sets off in search of his choice perch.

To say the situation deteriorates quickly may be an understatement. Clint goes from being in the clear to being shot at in the space of a breath. Cursing, he drops into the cover of the foliage he’d been traversing. Alarmed voices ring through his comms. He growls, arrows already flying before he answers, “Walked into fire.”

He can hear Stark zipping around above his impromptu hide. Between the two of them, it’s not long before the sounds of gunfire surrounding him are silenced. Clint stays covered for a beat to be sure the coast is clear, then rolls to his feet and continuing his original path. He huffs out an irritated breath, “Guess I aught to thank you, Stark.” A pause, and then growled under his breath, “Even though you’re probably the one that tipped them off to begin with.”

Phil’s commanding voice roars straight over any reply Tony may have thrown back. “Enough! You’re in the field, behave yourselves.” His tone leaves not even the barest inch for retort. Clint is both impressed and furious.

“That’s right, better play nice feather face!”

“Stark!!”

“Shutting up, _mom_.”

Clint’s teeth are clenched, a low growl in his throat as he swallows his remark for Tony. _Later, later_ , he assures himself, forcing his full attention on his task.

\-----

In the end, they get Bertrand. His jaw is broken (thank you Steve), but, well, they can fix that.

The list of injuries is short. Steve himself has a split lip but it's stopped bleeding before they even return to the jet. Stark's a little bruised but no worse for wear. The worst Tasha got was some scraped knuckles. Bruce, being thankfully unnecessary, is perfectly fine. Clint comes back, oblivious to the bullet that had grazed his thigh. Thank you adrenaline.

He's strolling up the ramp into the quinjet when Natasha fixes him with a look and says, “Barton, you're bleeding.”

He looks down, sees the hole in his pants and the dark stain surrounding it. He touches his fingers to the area; they come away red. “Hm. Guess I am.” He thanks his lucky stars that Phil’s not within earshot. As it stands, Clint just shrugs and settles in his gear before checking himself over for other wounds. Nothing out of the ordinary.

He's tucked himself away, off to the side and out of the way. The wound on his leg is starting to sting and he purses his lips.

“At least bandage it, huh?” Nat’s sidled up beside him. 

He grouses, mood dampened despite the successful mission. “It's fine, won't even need stitches.”

She pokes him in the shoulder and pointedly stares at Phil. When he only grumbles, she speaks up, “He's fretting enough today. Come on, идиот.” She has a little med kit in her hands that she opens, not bothering to wait for an answer.

Clint sighs and let's her work, cleaning the graze before securing a folded square of gauze over the area with tape. He huffs, “Happy now?” Nat just hums an affirmative and he silently bumps his shoulder against her in thanks.

Phil is still busy being the bossman and tying up loose ends, so Clint stays settled on the floor beside Natasha, folding in on himself with his head turned toward her. Her scent is unique, familiar and soothing to him. She carries herself like an alpha but she smells more like a beta. Very few are privy to where she actually falls on the dynamic. Clint knows she’s an alpha. Or she used to be until she was sterilized, now incapable of siring or carrying children. As a result, her pheromones are altered, retaining some hint of her original alpha scent, but smelling bland and otherwise unappealing to most. Clint enjoys her scent on the basis that he knows it means safety, that they’re together. She silently smooths down a piece of his hair and simply lets him take comfort in her presence.

\-----

Clint's startled awake. He's immediately aware that they're still in flight and Natasha has left his side. The next thing he registers is Phil hovering over him. He doesn't look pleased.

“You were hit?” He gestures at Clint's leg.

“Barely.” _Ah, crap._ He can see the worry darkening his alpha's eyes. “Phil it's fine. Seriously, I didn't even know it was there until I got back.” Phil's eyes narrow. That may not have helped. “Nat took care of it, see?”

Phil sighs and kneels down. He cards his fingers through Clint's hair, lingering. “I'm sorry,” he murmurs, “I worry about you, you know that.”

A tiny lopsided smile pulls at his lips and he touches Phil's forearm lightly. “I know. Gotta trust me to take care of myself.”

He gets a quiet snort. “More like trust Natasha,” he teases, sparing a thankful nod in her direction. Her slow, silent blink answers and then she's turning away.

“Same difference really.”

\-----

They're back home, finally. It's early morning when they drag themselves through the front door. Clint spares a glance at the window with the pale glow of the sun beginning to rise. He squints at the time by the oven. He still has a few hours before he should take his prenatal. Groaning, he rubs his face. "Phil? Think it'd hurt if I take this now?" He holds up the little pill bottle, letting it rattle quietly.

Phil looks over, checks his watch and shrugs. "I doubt it. We'll probably sleep through your usual time."

"Good. I'm taking it now." He pops the lid and quickly downs a pill, chasing it with water. Phil's already in their room when he's finished. Clint is immediately kicking off his boots and stripping down to his boxers. He usually wouldn't bother but he knows Phil prefers that they not sleep in their mission clothes. It's reasonable enough. He almost always returns dirty.

They're both in bed in record time, despite their slightly sluggish motions. Clint is just drifting off when he notices an uneasiness in his stomach. He frowns and rolls on to his back.

Phil makes a tiny questioning noise but doesn't open his eyes.

"Need to remember to take that thing with food. I'm all queasy now," he complains with a moan.

His eyes do open now, head lifting off the pillow. His brow is furrowed slightly. "I'm sorry, didn't think about that."

Clint just shrugs one shoulder. "S'okay, neither did I." He shuffles, realizes he can still hear, and moves to take his new aids out. He'd barely noticed they were still there. He says as much to Phil, rolling to face him.

The grin on Phil's face is illuminated by the early morning sun. He mouths, _you like them?_ , signing along as he does.

Clint hums an affirmative, his fist rocking _yes_ lazily against the mattress.

Phil is smiling fondly when he leans forward to kiss Clint softly on the nose.

He can see his lips moving and deciphers Phil's sweet _love you, babe._ "Love you too," he murmurs, unable to keep his eyes open any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to Google translate, идиот is Russian for idiot. If it's wrong, I apologize.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey an update!

Two weeks from the end of Clint's heat comes and goes and, though he takes his prenatals religiously, he's made no effort at actually taking a test. After the third week, Phil decides it's time to give him a gentle reminder and brings a urine pregnancy test to Clint as they're getting ready for bed. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Clint accepts it with a shrug and a slightly bewildered look on his face. He’s pretty certain that he’s not pregnant but he can’t bring himself to voice that as he deposits the test on the bathroom counter. “I’ll do it in the morning,” he tells Phil, knowing that’s how they’re intended to be used.

Phil kisses him and caresses his neck silently before moving on to get ready for bed.

\-----

Clint doesn’t sleep well that night. He wakes several times throughout the night and, by the time 4 am rolls around, he gives up. He extricates himself from bed, mindful to not disturb Phil, and slips into the adjoining bathroom, snatching up his phone as he goes. Door closed securely behind him, he turns on the light and stares at the box on the counter for a solid minute before moving to open it up. Despite his certainty that his last heat had not been as productive as they’d wanted, he feels a jittery sense of butterflies in his stomach. He follows the directions to a T and leaves the stick on the counter to wait. Sitting on the toilet seat, he stares blankly at his phone resting on his leg, watching the time move sluggishly along. The thing vibes, reminding him time is up, as if he’d not been silently counting the seconds with it. His heart is fluttering as he drags the stick closer and leans over to look, seeing the words Not Pregnant against his eyelids. His eyes settle on the oblong results window and the stick clatters to the counter as he jerks his hand back.

Phil wakes to a small noise. He’s ready to disregard it and fall back asleep until he rolls over to find Clint isn’t there. Brow furrowed, he sits up and catches sight of the light glowing beneath the bathroom door. He stifles a yawn with his hand and gets up to investigate. He pushes the door open to find Clint staring at the floor with a perplexed look. He’s about to ask what’s wrong when he notices the open pregnancy test on the counter. _Oh._

Clint blinks and looks up at Phil as he realizes he’s walked in. He’s not got his aids in and had been too distracted to notice his approach.

Confused eyes follow his movement as he steps forward to look at the test, fully expecting a negative result by Clint’s behavior. When his eyes land on the single word, Pregnant, his heart flops. “Clint?” his voice cracks faintly as he looks at him, not understanding.

“I don’t.. I don’t feel any different,” he explains, shaking his head. “That can’t be right. I’d know wouldn’t I?” There’s tears in his eyes now and he’s not sure why. He makes himself watch Phil's face to read his lips despite the desire to stare at his knees.

“Clint,” he croons, his expression softening as he moves to kneel in front of his mate. “Honey, it’s not an instantaneous thing.” He cups Clint’s face in his hands, thumbs brushing away the tears.

Clint’s face crumples and he slides off the toilet seat to sit in Phil’s lap on the floor. His face is tucked against the side of Phil’s neck as he snuggles closer. “I know that,” he huffs quietly, embarrassed.

Phil leans back after a while, tapping Clint for his attention before speaking in sight. “We can have medical double check it today if you want,” he offers, stroking his hands along Clint’s back and sides.

He’s quiet for a few minutes before snuggling close again and nodding his head with a sigh, “Okay.”

\-----

Clint follows Phil to his office when they go to work the next day. He's dragging his feet about going to medical. He pokes around for a while, being lazy on Phil's couch before Phil's intermittent glances get to him. He leaves while Phil is on the phone, signing at him, _see you at lunch_. He ignores the slightly pinched look around around his eyes as he steps out the door.

Instead of going to medical like an adult, he stalks along the halls until he finds himself outside the shooting ranges. Shooting things usually makes him feel better.

Several quivers worth of arrows and a set of throwing knives later has little effect. He huffs, out of projectiles, and meanders around collecting arrows. His mood, may in fact, be worse as he puts everything away. _Damnit._

His phone chimes with a message. He checks the time. It's already after noon. Phil is probably getting food.

_Lunch in my office?_

He sighs. _On my way._

Clint slinks in the door, quietly clicking it shut behind him. Phil already has lunch laid out on his desk. Looks like meatloaf and veggies.

“Hey,” he greets, folding himself into the chair facing Phil's desk. He picks up the fork and pokes at the meatloaf before shrugging and cutting off a piece.

“How was your morning?” Phil's focus moves from his food to Clint.

Clint knows he knows he hasn't been by medical. It would honestly be a bigger shock if he had been. He methodically chews his meatloaf before answering. “Okay. I hit the range. Everything smooth?” He shuffles in his seat.

Phil's head nods knowingly and hums an affirmative. ”Pretty uneventful honestly.” They eat in silence a while before he speaks up again, “I've got some time this afternoon if you want me to go with you.” No need to clarify where.

The broccoli nearly catches in his throat when he tries to swallow it. He coughs lightly and considers. Would this be better or worse alone? He has no idea. He bites his lip, nodding slowly. “If you have free time, sure.”

Phil's mouth quirks a little, voice low and affectionate, “You know I've always got time for you, baby.”

Clint has to blink away tears.

\-----

Medical is as entertaining as it usually is. By some grace, he gets Gloria as a nurse again. That's probably less by chance and more that everyone else is sick of his antics.

This time he closes his eyes as she draws his blood. Snyder is also having his hormone levels retested. Two birds, one needle. Clint absently wonders what effect pregnancy would have on his wonky hormone levels.

The pregnancy test itself, they assure them, is very quick so they have them wait for the results. Clint feels claustrophobic the second they close the door.

Phil strokes along the back of his neck. “We don't have to wait in here.”

He shakes his head a little, “Nah, m’okay.” He can sit still and not freak out for ten minutes.

Fifteen minutes later, Clint is gritting his teeth with the effort to not walk out. Phil's hand on his knee is the only thing anchoring him.

The door clicks open and Snyder steps in, cool as can be. “Hanging in there gentlemen?”

Clint can't hold back his growl. Phil's hand squeezes his leg gently.

The doctor lifts a brow at Barton but doesn't say a word. He shifts the papers in his hands, glancing them over. “Your home test was accurate. You are, in fact, pregnant. Congratulations.” He offers them a smile.

Clint's hands ball up into fists and his breathing quickens.

Phil casts a concerned look at his mate before addressing the doctor. “Thank you. If you could excuse us for a moment?”

“Certainly,” he agrees, eager to leave the room, though he does seem a tad worried about his patient.

The door closes again and Clint can't stay put this time. He gets up and starts pacing, his movements a little jerky.

Phil sighs softly lets him make a couple down and backs in the small room before standing up in his path. His hands steady Clint, curled around his biceps. Unsure what to say, he just pulls him close and holds him, kissing his neck and shoulder.

He resists briefly before melting into his alpha. Face hidden, he cringes; what must Phil be thinking with the way he's acting? A despairing noise drags from his throat. “Phil, I'm sorry. I'm happy, I think I am. I just.. I don't,” he can't string the words together.

“I know baby,” he murmurs, fluttering kisses over Clint's face. “You didn't think it took, it's okay for you to feel like this.”

Clint accepts the affection, humming softly a nonverbal response.

They stand there, wrapped up in one another until Clint's ready to move.

“Can we go?”

Phil nods and takes his hand to lead him out. Doctor Snyder watches them. He wisely lets them go. They'll worry about arranging prenatal appointments later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that the boys are officially expecting, let me know if there are any particular pregnancy moments you folks would like to see!! I have a few in mind already and I'd love to read any suggestions!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this has been dead long enough. I actually have a good chunk written up, just not interconnected. So. We'll see what I can do with it now c:

They return to Phil's office long enough for him to wrap up any pressing matters. Clint tried to talk Phil out of leaving work early but it fell on deaf ears. _Oops_ , he silently snickers at the thought.

About an hour after they've left medical, they're walking in the front door. Phil goes to change and Clint settles himself on the couch with the blanket draped over the back tucked around him. He watches Phil move about, winding up in the kitchen to make something for dinner. After poking around the cabinets, he asks, “How's soup and salad?”

Clint shrugs a single shoulder from where he's cocooned. He assures Phil that it sounds fine, just to get him to make something. In all honesty, his appetite is a little funky after the last day or so. Probably his nerves. At least soup and salad should be light. He slumps a little lower into the couch.

Before long, Phil has steaming bowls of chicken noodle and simple, crisp salads on the table. He comes over to sit on the coffee table in front of Clint and kisses his forehead. “Ready to come eat?”

Clint blinks at him and nods. He stands to follow Phil to the dining table, keeping the blanket around his shoulders. “Smells good.” After poking around at his food for a few minutes, he starts eating and finds himself to be quite hungry. They eat in silence until their plates and bowls are clean. Phil clears the dishes while Clint stares at the table top.

Phil takes as long as he can, cleaning the kitchen up as he keeps an eye on his omega. He seems lost in thought. Out of things to do, he approaches his mate and pets his hair softly. “Anything you want to talk about baby?”

He makes a nondescript noise. He thinks about lying but figures being honest would probably be best for both of them. “Wouldn't know where to start,” he admits quietly. His mind is racing well ahead, fretting over any number of eventual possibilities.

Blunt fingernails scratch lightly at the man's scalp as he hums softly.

Clint practically purrs, his eyelids growing heavy.

“You're tired,” he murmurs, an absent observation.

He doesn't try to deny it. He hardly slept last night and he'd be lying if today hadn't been taxing. “Yeah, gonna call it an early night I think.”

“Good idea.”

They meander through getting ready for bed, Clint depositing the blanket back on the couch in the process.

When they're finally in bed, Clint snuggles close, his nose to Phil's throat, wanting his scent close. “You know I love you, right?” he whispers into skin, worried Phil would be offended by his display of nerves.

Phil nods and he can feel his vocal cords vibrating beneath his lips. One of his hands slides around until it can rest low on his stomach. It speaks louder than any words could and he bites his lip with the well of emotion it brings. He settles his hand lightly over Phil's and they fall asleep just like that.

\-----

It's not even a week before emails from Director Fury show up in their inboxes. Fury is congratulatory yet a bit peeved to have his best marksman out of commission. But let’s face it.. The prospect of being stuck in a nest for days on end with MREs and minimal water just doesn’t mix with pregnancy. That's not even to mention being shot at. Besides, he knew in advance that Clint was having his implant removed. He really should’ve expected nothing less.

In response, Phil requests he be removed from fieldwork immediately. Clint argues the point for a solid minute. He shuts up when Phil reminds him it's their responsibility to keep their unborn child safe. He swallows thickly and concedes, “You're right.”

They discuss his job potential during his pregnancy and agree that he can oversee missions, leading them and traveling with the teams on low risk missions. With the condition that he stays on the damn quinjet. Overwhelmed and cowed, Clint quietly agrees.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, here we gooo~

Phil offers to organize Clint's prenatal appointments when a worried and overwhelmed look falls heavy on the omega’s face. With the next appointment set for a month out, it takes very little time to fall back into a normal rhythm of life, two weeks flying by.

Then Phil gets an order to ship out and it's his turn to panic. He nearly refuses the job on impulse. It takes several minutes of convincing, Clint anxious to be apart but he'll be damned if he's going to let Phil neglect his duty to watch his sorry ass. Phil sees reason and he's gone within 24 hours.

Left to his own devices, Clint is antsy and reclusive. He goes to work but spends the majority of the time hiding out in Phil's office or skulking around the range. As the week stretched on, he'd be lying if he said he accomplished much.

\-----

Phil comes home at what is possibly, in Clint's opinion, the worst possible time. He's barely in the front door when the sound of retching registers in his ears. He drops his stuff in a trail reminiscent of breadcrumbs on his dash to the master bathroom. He finds Clint in front of the toilet, his forehead resting against his arm on the toilet bowl. He surges forward, fussing over the man, checking his forehead and stroking along his back.

He doesn't even move, just growls lightly, "If you don't get offa me, I'm'onna throw up on you." His point is nicely punctuated with a lurching burp.

Phil blinks but backs off. He stares at the man a moment before shuffling away. He returns a short minute later with a glass of cool water. He sets it on the floor near Clint before settling himself on the floor. His face is wrinkled with silent worry, but he respects his omega's desire to be left alone.

When he feels like he's not liable to gag if he moves, Clint shuffles back far enough to lean against the wall. There's a fine sheen of sweat covering his skin. He rolls his head lethargically to look at Phil. "How was the mission?"

He's honestly thrown by the question and gapes at Clint for a solid minute before piecing his brain back together. "Mission.. right, it was fine. Pretty routine."

Clint nods and takes a tentative sip of the water Phil had brought him. He clamps a hand over his mouth as it nearly makes him gag again. He sets it aside, the glass clacking against floor harder than it should have, water sloshing.

Unable to wait any longer for Clint to explain, he breaks down and asks, "You catch something while I was away, baby?" He's subconsciously leaning toward Clint but keeping his hands off.

The omega grunts, looking rather displeased. The queasiness settles and the look he gives Phil belays his irritation. "Nope you were definitely here for it." He leans forward to flush the toilet, almost an afterthought as the smell of his own vomit reaches him. He needs no help with gagging lately, thank you very much.

The look on Phil's face is almost comical. Seriously, Clint would laugh if he wasn't worried about his stomach roiling. Or, you know, in a generally pissy mood. "It's morning sickness, you dumbass," he finally snaps, his head thunking solidly against the wall.

"Oh! Oh gosh, is that it?" Phil sounds genuinely relieved.

His words, however, have Clint baring his teeth. "What d'ya mean is that it? My new best friend is made of porcelain!" He kicks the side of the toilet for good measure.

"No, no.. I'm sorry, that's not what I meant. I was worried that you were sick. That you'd caught a stomach flu or ate something bad," Phil backpedals, alarmed. He's becoming familiar with the effects of pregnancy hormones on his mate; volatility being one of them. To be safe, he apologizes again, "I'm sorry. Do you need anything?"

Clint sighs but signs _no_ He doesn't feel much like doing anything if he's honest with himself. Even opening his mouth to speak can be perilous. He switches to signing without making the conscious decision to do so. _Water, bed. Sleep._ He pauses, trying the water again in tiny sips. His eyes are nearly closed and directed at the floor as he signs _missed you_ with the air of a petulant child.

"Oh, honey," Phil croons, drawn toward him. He strokes his hair and traces along the shell of his ear. "You ready to move back to bed?"

His fist rocks _yes_ though he makes no move to get up. He feels Phil tap his shoulder and opens his eyes to see him offering his hands out for him. He takes them, letting Phil help pull him up off the floor. Clint is instantly folded under one of Phil's arms and gently being guided out of the bathroom. They reach the end of the bed and Clint just crawls up the length of it before landing in a graceless sprawl on top of the covers.

Phil brings the glass of water in and leaves it on the nightstand. He kicks off his shoes and strips out of his suit to join Clint. He folds back the corner of the rumpled sheets. It doesn't go far with Clint's weight on it. "You want under the covers?" Clint shakes his head against the pillow so Phil just stretches out beside him. He trails his fingers up and down the length of Clint's spine, watching him in the low light of the moon filtering in through the window. There's so much that he wants to say, but he forces himself into silence. They can talk later when they've had some sleep and Clint isn't nauseated.


End file.
